


Sha'kaji

by Passionate_Storyteller



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Cultural Differences, Dialogue Heavy, Gen, Introspection, Mandalorian Culture (Star Wars), Mando'a Language (Star Wars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:20:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29694234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Passionate_Storyteller/pseuds/Passionate_Storyteller
Summary: “We’re not so different, you and I.” he said.Sha'kaji: conjugated form of sha’kajir. Two meanings; 1) over a meal, over a table // 2) ceasefire, truce. The first meaning informs the second.
Comments: 24
Kudos: 56





	Sha'kaji

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Forging](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29240985) by [pretchatta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pretchatta/pseuds/pretchatta). 



> This fic has involved many hours scouring Wookieepedia pages, comparing words on mandoa.org, and consuming other Mandalorian fanfic, as well as more than one "argh, help" thrown at the New SW Canon Discord. A classic "it was supposed to be short" fic, but *shrugs* apparently Din and Bo-Katan had some stuff to say...

“Mando, wait a moment.”

Din paused in front of the bridge doors. In front of him, Shand – no, she’d told him to call her Fennec now, hadn’t she – and Cara’s footsteps also halted.

Din glanced at them, reading the impatience in their faces. Cara had one arm hooked around Gideon’s unconscious form, and was clearly itching to secure him properly. Especially with Fett waiting in the largest docking bay of the light cruiser.

“Kryze, I thought we’d said our goodbyes already.” Din finally responded, letting some of his own impatience (tiredness) bleed into his voice. He was _more_ than ready for this whole venture to be over. He’d hoped Kryze would allow the camaraderie of their shared storytelling to be their farewell. Apparently he’d been asking for too much.

Kryze huffed. “I just want to talk.” She said. She seemed to hesitate, then added, “Sha’kaji.”

Slowly, Din turned. Had he heard correctly? “ _Sha’kaji?_ ” he repeated. Her accent was different to his – sharper, with more emphasis on certain consonants. His helmet tilted down slightly as he eyed her. _Does that mean what I think it does? What is she **playing** at? _

Kryze was helmetless, watching them with lips pressed thin and cold eyes. At Din’s question, her stance shifted slightly, a little more open. “Elek.” She stated firmly. Her voice took on a formal tone. “Peace, Mando. I have no food to offer, but your… customs wouldn’t allow you to accept anyway. The console can be our table.” She placed her hand on the centre console near her.

Din studied her. _Huh, she’s serious_. “Fine.” He muttered.

Behind him, he felt Fennec and Cara step forward, ready to watch his back again. “What’s going on?” Cara murmured, at his left. “What’d she say?”

Right, they wouldn’t have understood the significance. “Truce talks.” He translated, turning his head towards her. “Usually held around a table.” He glanced back at Kryze. “And I guess that used to involve sharing a meal, too.”

“Hmm.” Cara said, thoughtful. Fennec was silent on his other side. He appreciated their willingness to have his back, even as a part of him prickled at needing it against another Mandalorian.

Kryze had given a barely visible wince as he’d explained, and was now frowning as she watched them. “Not you two. Just him.” She said, as they went to approach.

Cara made a disgruntled noise. “So, what? You get backup and he doesn’t?” she asked, acerbic.

A helmetless Reeves, standing to the right of Kryze, folded her arms and met Cara’s gaze with a challenging stare. Din’s helmet tipped up slightly, and he rolled his eyes beneath it. “Leave it, Cara.” He finally said, turning to look at her. “I’ll be fine. You two go; get Gideon sorted and explain the holdup to Fett.”

Cara pursed her lips, and her eyes met his visor with a hard stare before agreeing. “All right.” She muttered.

Din saw the glance she exchanged with Fennec, and relaxed slightly. She’d heard the second message behind Din’s words; he might not have backup present, but with Fett alerted, it would definitely be on standby. (He’d noticed Fett and Kryze had history, of sorts; he wasn’t above using that, if Kryze became… difficult.)

Then Kryze surprised him. “Koska, go with them.” She said.  
Reeves turned to stare, incredulous, and Kryze continued, “Neither of us need _backup_ , as Dune put it. I’m not looking for a fight.”

Reeves met Kryze’s eyes for a moment, frowning, before sighing and stalking out of the bridge. She gave Din a sideways glance as she passed, but otherwise ignored him.

Din tucked his helmet towards his chest, smirking. _Don’t mess with her, Reeves? Hah. I know **that** much_. He thought, amused. Not like he’d make the first move, anyway; Kryze had invoked the ceasefire custom, and he would honour it.

The footsteps of the others receded, the bridge doors closing behind them. Din approached Kryze carefully, stopping opposite her on the other side of the centre console. “So, what’s this about?” he asked, tilting his helmet to the side slightly.

Kryze studied him for a moment before she said, “I wanted to know your plans after this.” She said, “You are resolved to go with… Fett?” Ruefulness lingered in her voice.

Din snorted. “Well, I’d hardly go with you. He, at least, honours his deals.” He said, bitterly.

Kryze’s lip curled. “You needn’t be petty.” She snapped, “If not for your story, before, I’d have assumed _you_ didn’t hold up your end of our deal.”

Din glared, angling his visor to meet her gaze directly through it. “Perhaps if you’d told me a little more about the importance of this thing _before_ we attempted this mission, I’d have tried a little harder to leave it for you.” He replied, placing his hand on the Darksaber where it was clipped to his belt.

If he’d known it’s true purpose… well. He _might_ have done things differently. At least tried to.

“Gideon wouldn’t have allowed that.” Kryze said.  
Din sighed, the sound echoing through his vocoder. “True.” He said, heavily, his helmet dipping as he nodded.

A corner of Kryze’s mouth ticked up. “And really, how was I to know you didn’t know what the Darksaber was, what its value was to Mando’ade?” she asked, rhetorically.

Din’s head snapped up and he glared at her through the visor again. “ _Some_ Mando’ade.” He corrected. He was in no mood for her opinions about whether his tribe was truly Mandalorian or not.

To his surprise, his response made Kryze smile. “So, you admit that there are more Mando’ade than just your Kyr’stad’ade?” she asked, her tone mocking.

It took Din a moment to parse what she meant. “Kyr’stad’ade?” he repeated, incredulous. Then he got it. “ _Nayc_.” He countered, infusing the word with as much derision as he could muster.

Kryze raised her eyebrows. “Oh?” she asked, still mocking, but curious as well.

“ _Ja’hail’ade_ , perhaps, if you _really_ insist.” He explained, “But we called ourselves the Aliit. Tribe. That’s _all_.” He stared her down, hoping she would see that he would not be moved.

For a moment, Kryze studied him curiously, and Din thought she would ask for more details. Instead, she merely sighed. “Oh, fine. We could argue semantics all day, but neither of us have that time.” She said, dismissing it. “Kyr’stad wouldn’t claim you, anyway.”

Din tilted his helmet towards the ceiling, frustrated. So, Kryze had been testing him. Before he could respond, she went on, “My allies and I are not from any one sect of Mandalorians; whatever we were before, our only name is Mando’ade now.”

Din lowered his head to stare at her, interested despite himself. That idea sounded rather familiar…

And then Kryze ruined it when she continued, “I wish you would come with us, Mando. It would make things easier in the long run.”

Din squeezed his eyes shut for a moment under the helmet, fists flexing at his sides. Could she not just take a _hint_?

“As it stands, Koska and I will depart in the cruiser once you and your friends leave, returning to our base on Bandomeer. There, we will regroup and continue preparations to retake Mandalore. But our quest would be far more meaningful with you there.”

Din tilted his helmet to the side, amused. “You mean, more meaningful with _this_ there.” He said, tapping the Darksaber again. A muscle jumped in Kryze’s jaw, but she made no vocal response, merely looking at him.

Din loosened his own stance. “Kryze… why do you even care? I understand that Mandalore was once important, but that was _years_ ago.” He stated, “Things have changed since – multiple times. And the planet itself… it would take _just as long_ to heal from what’s been done to it. Why try?”

Kryze scowled. Din added, “You keep telling me I’m sheltered. I don’t like not understanding. So; explain it to me.”

Kryze looked down for a moment, gathering her thoughts. She placed a hand on her helmet, resting on the console. As she looked back up, her gaze focused momentarily on the Darksaber at Din’s hip before meeting his visor.

“To be Mandalorian is to have Mandalore.” She said, “It was our ancestral home for _thousands_ of years. And not just the planet – the _sector_. The mines and farms of Concord Dawn, Concordia and Gargon; the habitats of Krownest, Ordo, and the moon Zanbar; the cities and culture of Kalevala, and Manda’yaim itself…”

Her eyes and voice were full of passion, and memory; remembering what was now gone. “When we – through our own hubris and a series of poor decisions, poor timing, and bad luck – lost our home, despite how hard we fought for it…” she continued, “We knew it would not be forever. There was never any other option but to continue the struggle. We aren’t free until our planet, our sector, our _yaim_ is free.” Her eyes beseeched him to understand. And Din found he might be beginning to.

Kryze breathed deeply, calming slightly. “It means _everything_ to us.” She finished.

Din nodded slowly. “I see that it does, to you.” He said, respectfully. He paused, gathering his own thoughts, then went on, “But… I see it differently.”

Kryze tensed again.

“To me… Being Mandalorian has _always_ been more than our planet. It’s our _people_.” Din explained, “Our culture. Or as we say – the Creed. Our people come from many places, many original traditions, whether they be born Aliit’ade or found. It does not matter what they were before, for all are equal in our armour; it is the Way.”

“The Way.” Kryze repeated, dubious. Din remembered her earlier dismissal of it.

“ _Elek_.” He said, “Our strength comes from our unity, our loyalty to the traditions of the past. We avoid removing our helmets beyond those in our kih’aliit; we wear our armour with pride; we speak Mando’a – and many other languages, unique to the peoples of each Aliit – with joy; and we know each weapon we use, and how we use it in defence of ourselves and others. Our unity provides security, enabling us to contribute to our communities as we can – by serving others, in respect of the manda.”

At last, Kryze looked interested, rather than merely sceptical. Din was glad. He’d hoped she would recognise some of the meaning of his words, if not the words themselves; if she was truly Mandalorian (as she said she was, and all evidence pointed in her favour), then she should know the Creed too.

“If your Aliit cares so much about loyalty to our past traditions, why did you not know of the power of the Darksaber?” She asked after a moment, frowning. This time, her tone was curious, rather than accusatory.

Din shifted on his feet. “My Aliit placed great importance on looking forward, not behind.” He explained, “Only what was useful to the future was properly taught. We knew Mandalore was lost to us, so what did an ik’aad gehat’ik matter?”

Kryze frowned. “An ik’aad gehat’ik.” She repeated, incredulous. “You thought of the Dha’kad as a _children’s tale_?”

Din dipped his helmet in a nod. “I heard it in my early foundling years: a Mando’kad of legend that gave ijaat to the Mand’alor’e of old. But the ‘kad was believed lost, its power defeated by its placement in the hands of a dar’manda.” He looked to the ceiling, his helmet tipping up. “Or… demagolka? It’s been too long since I heard the tale. After the Purge, it faded from use, even as a fable.” He muttered.

Kryze had scowled when he’d mentioned “dar’manda”; at “demagolka”, her expression became positively thunderous for a moment. “ _Maul_ ,” she hissed. Din looked at her, tilting his helmet in inquiry.

“A darjetii stole it, before the Siege. He’s dead now.” She said, shortly.

Din tilted his helmet to stare at her directly. A _dar_ ’jetii? What?

“It’s not important.” Kryze said, dismissing it with a flick of her hand.

She refocused on him. “I still don’t understand.” She admitted. “How did your Aliit judge what was waa’tayla, after the Purge?”

Din considered her carefully. Kryze was asking with honest curiosity, and more than that, with open interest. He would tell her what he knew.

“The process began well before it.” Din began, “As a new foundling, I was taught that the maan ba’slana, the... original Ja’hail’ade -” and dank _farrik_ , it was strange to use that term, “- left years before the Purge, because they believed that the single-minded focus on Mandalore was _killing_ us, our manda. Leaving us weak and easy pickings for those aruetiise who would tear us down.”

Kryze frowned, and shifted uneasily on her feet, but remained silent, her eyes locked on his visor.

“We are survivors. _Warriors_ , not conquerors. So they gave up the past, the planet, left it behind and held tight to what mattered, instead. They left much of their history behind, but kept the old Ways.” Din said, his voice just as intent as hers had been earlier, if more contained. “They roamed the galaxy, offering their services as bounty hunters, mercenaries, soldiers for hire to those with the right kar’ta. Or protecting those who had no voice, no other choice in their circumstances. Over time, others joined them, in groups – like the founders of my Aliit – or as foundlings. Like me. If my Aliit hadn’t rescued me… I’d be dead, an unwritten child casualty of the Clone Wars.”

Din’s voice cracked, the vocoder barely muffling it. His voice was becoming hoarse from all the talking, but this _mattered_. He pushed on. 

Kryze made a questioning noise. “And in return, they inducted you into their ranks.” She said, probing, “And everything that came with it.” Her eyes raked over him, and Din knew she was thinking of his helmet, and all he’d said about it. How he’d never taken it off… until Grogu.

 _No, don’t think about that_. He told himself. He refocused on Kryze. “Until the Purge, I always had a choice. Even now, it is a choice.” He said, “In those days, there were multiple ways of serving the ka’ra. I was raised in the Fighting Corps, but that didn’t mean there weren’t opportunities to turn aside before adulthood, to choose a different path. Children are the future; and you don’t raise a child to fullness by stunting their growth, their… shereshoy. I _wanted_ to be a warrior, and a follower of the Way.”

Kryze’s shoulders had softened. “And… after the Purge?” she asked, softly. “What happened then?”

“Secrecy became our strength, and through it, our survival.” Din answered, voice dropping to match hers. “The priority became preserving and protecting our community. Only one of us was able to go above the surface at a time, as provider. Beroya. Carrying the kot bal kar’ta of our community. Until I found Grogu, and brought Gideon down on our heads, I was that one for my Aliit.”

Despite knowing it wasn’t his fault – that the Tribe would not have had it any other way – Din still felt guilty about that, even now. They had been safe in their secrecy… if it hadn’t been for him…

But then, he couldn’t have lived with himself if he hadn’t gone back for Grogu. He knew he’d made the right choice. That didn’t mean it still _hurt_.

Kryze was watching him with a too-perceptive look on her face. But Din spoke before she could. “Kryze… Are there many Mando’ade waiting for you on Bandomeer?” he asked.

Kryze gave him a cautious look. “Yes.” She replied, “Or’averde scattered across the planet and in surrounding systems, of varying sizes. All waiting for the word.”

Din stared at her, helmet tilting in inquiry. Or’averde – companies. Plural. “So many?” he breathed, astounded, his posture straightening. That was the largest group of Mando’ade he’d heard of in one place since before the Purge.

Kryze smiled. “And more hide on other planets further afield.” She said, “They walk their own journeys to find the supplies and resources we will need to retake Manda’yaim, and wait for the word to come home.”

She placed a hand on the console, patting it. “That word will come a lot sooner, with ships like this.” She said, her smile taking on a satisfied look.

Din swallowed, and pressed his gloved palms flat against the beskar over his thighs. “Will such a call be worth it, though?” he asked her. “How do you know it won’t end with yet more Mando’ade blood spilled on the desolate sands?”

Kryze’s expression hardened. “My verde know what they’re signing up for. Every life lost will be worth it, to retake what is rightfully _ours_.” She answered him, her eyes shining with fervour.

Din recoiled, stepping back slightly. “ _Nayc_.” He gasped, horrified.

“Are people and culture not worth more than planets, no matter how beautiful, or historic, Kryze?” he asked her desperately. “We can take our traditions with us, into the galaxy, finding new ways of being Mando’ade and blending them with the old. We cannot move planets in the same way. There are _so few_ of us left… How much is too much?” He leant towards her, the pleading in his voice visible through the vocoder. 

“Is it so hard to let the planet go, so that the people may survive?” he asked.

Kryze swallowed, and looked away from his visor. She looked towards the starboard viewport, her expression grim. “I don’t wish to throw away lives at a hopeless cause.” She whispered, after a long moment. “Each _one_ of my people are valued, important in their own right. I would rather _all_ lived. But… to give up now…”

She shook her head. “You ask the impossible.” She told him, “All I have known is Manda’yaim. To retreat now, after so many years, would be like giving up on my own manda.”

At that, Din felt the beginnings of understanding click into place. He watched her gaze at the stars, reflecting on what she had said, and was suddenly, sharply, reminded of his turmoil on Morak.

He’d been forced to choose between his Creed and his child. The pain of that choice still lingered, despite – or perhaps, because of – the knowledge that, if faced with the same circumstances, he would make the same choice again.

Then, Kryze turned back to him with a quick movement. “ _That_ is why I continue to fight. Because to give up would be to lose _everything_. My Mando’ade share that view.” She said, determined.

Din held her gaze through his visor for a long moment before dipping his helmet in a slow nod. “I understand.” He said.

Kryze stopped, taken aback.

Din studied her. “We’re not so different, you and I.” he said, “And I… apologise for asking that of you after what you’d already told me. Giving up Manda’yaim, for you, would be comparable to me abandoning the Way.”

Kryze tilted her head at him, confusion written on her face.

Din continued, “You and your Aliit value the ceremonial weapon; mine valued the security of the armour, so I do likewise.” He gestured to the Darksaber, and then to his helmet. “But in the end… We are all Mando’ade.” Din said, “That’s what matters, isn’t it?”

Kryze frowned slightly. “I… I suppose so, yes.” She said, after a moment, her tone thoughtful.

Din didn’t know if she truly understood; but at least he knew he did.

He realised Kryze was studying him again, wearing that same too-perceptive look. “What?” he asked her.

She pressed her lips together for a moment. “Mando… what you said before, about Gideon… Do any of your Aliit still live?” she asked, with a gentleness Din had not expected.

Din swallowed. “Not… not many.” He said, “I… I was told some escaped, but it’s a big galaxy. Wouldn’t know where to start looking.” He forced the next words past his lips. “Most didn’t make it.”

Kryze looked down at the console on which her helmet rested, lips drawn down and eyes full of regret. “Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la.” She whispered, after a moment.

At the words, Din flinched, a full-body jerk. _Not gone, merely marching far away_.

In his mind’s eye, he remembered the last sight he’d had of his Aliit – Paz, in the jetpack; _“This is the Way.”_ To return afterward and find hollow beskar where there had once been a thriving community had been nehaal’nyn. It was why he’d argued with the Armourer then.

He’d been so alone since, with no other Mandalorians, no-one who truly understood. To hear those words now…

After swallowing several times to try to clear the stubborn lump in his throat, he met Kryze’s gaze again with his visor. “The worst part is… I haven’t been able to say the Remembrance.” He said to her, “Because I don’t know who I need to say it _for_.”

Kryze nodded, slowly, and Din knew she shared his grief. One Mandalorian to another.

A silence fell, lingering. Kryze ran her fingers over her helmet, feeling for dents and marks, her eyes far away. Din watched the stars. His thoughts travelled from his Aliit – and his hopes some were out there somewhere – to Grogu.

The X-wing had jumped to lightspeed while Din had been trading stories with the rest of the group about their battles. Din wondered how far they were travelling. He hoped Grogu was sleeping – the ad had seemed tired when Din had carried him away from the cells. He wondered what awaited Grogu at the destination. Protection, he knew; but he hoped warmth and comfort would also be there.

Din reached into his pocket and found the silver gear ball. He really should’ve given it to Grogu; a part of him was still annoyed he’d forgotten to do so. But the rest of him was too relieved that he had _something_ to hold onto.

The motion of his arm made the Darksaber hilt bump against his cuisse, causing a _clang_ as it met the beskar.

Kryze startled, turning around again with a hand to her own weapon, only to slump slightly as she realised what had caused the sound.

Din he unhooked the Darksaber from his belt and held it carefully in his palms. It was a finely crafted – if strange – weapon. But to Kryze, it was more than that. “What’s this made of, anyway?” he asked her, as he studied it. “I’ve… until that Jedi walked in, I’d never seen the like.” Carefully, he activated it, seeing again the mesmerising fluid darkness of the blade.

“The hilt is made of a cortosis-beskar alloy.” Kryze said, drawing Din’s eyes away. She was watching him handle the weapon with a look of naked longing on her face – until she saw his visor looking at her, and wiped her expression clean.

“The blade is plasma,” she went on, in a flat voice, “And it’s powered by kyber.”  
Din tilted his helmet at her. Wasn’t that the mineral… “Yes, the same thing that powered the Empire’s biggest superweapons.” Kryze confirmed. “Before the Emperor corrupted their image, kyber crystals were originally used only by the Jedi.”

Din blinked, turning his helmet to look at the Darksaber again. “This was once a Jedi weapon?” he breathed.  
Kryze nodded. “A Mando’ade Jetii. The first – and only – one, ta'raysholan’e ago.” She said, “Tarre Viszla.”

Din drew back in slight surprise. “ _Viszla_?” he repeated, interested. _Did you know about that, Paz?_ He thought. _You were always more interested in history than I was. Maybe this is why_.

He marked the name – and the idea of _Mando’ade_ Jetii – in his mind for later research, and focused back on Kryze, for she was speaking again. “It was reclaimed by his descendants after his death. Now it is a weapon fit for a Mand’alor.”

Din tilted his head towards the ceiling of the cruiser, frustrated. “Kryze…” he began.

Looking awkward, she interrupted him. “Mando… I hear how much you don’t want to be involved with Mandalore. I _do_ understand that.”

Din tensed, sensing what was coming.

“But it’s not that simple.” She said, “You won the Dha’kad in combat, the way a leader does. You and I cannot fight for it, here. But once we go our separate ways, and word spreads that it’s been found again… Others _will_.”

Din twitched, discomfited. Kryze wasn’t finished. “Or they will rally behind you.” She added.

At that, Din switched off the Darksaber so he could properly stare at her. “What.” He said, voice flat.

Kryze smiled, rueful and amused. “To many, your claim will be quite compelling.” She said, “The circumstances of your battle with Gideon, a sworn enemy of yours – we found that message you sent him while we were waiting for you to arrive, by the way, and your friend Cara was _quite_ happy to explain the context – how you won the Dha’kad, and why you fought… All showed you are true mandokarla.”

Din twisted his helmet away. “All I cared about was Grogu.” He said, uncomfortable.

Kryze laughed gently. “Exactly.” She said, looking smug. Then the smile dropped from her face, leaving her looking tired. “Face it, Mando – It’s yours. And with it, the throne of Mandalore.”

Din tilted his helmet towards the floor, feeling the weight of the past hours drag at him again. “Can’t you just… not tell anyone?” he tried.

Kryze shook her head. “It doesn’t work like that.” She replied, looking genuinely regretful.

Din sighed. “Surely the combat rule doesn’t matter when I was _tricked_ into fighting for it?” he asked, a last hope.

Kryze tensed.

“You saw already today that there are circumstances in which I can bend the highest law of my Creed.” Din continued, “Surely there must be exceptions to your law? Ways of Mando’ade passing it on to someone who’s more worthy?”

Kryze raised an eyebrow. “So sure of that, are you, that I would do a better job than you?” she asked.

Din just looked at her.

Kryze sighed. “You’re right.” She admitted, “There are… provisions for such, in our Creed. But – none that would work for me.”

Kryze looked down at her helmet, resting on the console next to her, and brushed a hand over its surface. “When the Darksaber first reappeared after being taken by the darjetii, the Mandalorian who found it decided I would wield it best.” She began, “I accepted it from her, then. But it was… hard, to rally support behind me. Many whispers followed me, because I had been gifted it, rather than fighting for it. On top of my other, past mistakes… well. Many Mando’ade agreed only because we were desperate.”

Din stared, astounded. Kryze spoke as if the words were pulled from her, with great reluctance. He sensed a broader struggle behind the simplicity of her words.

“And in the end,” Kryze continued, “It was for naught. Moff Gideon and his dar’manda allies triumphed. It took… many years after to get even _close_ to the level of support I once received, and the whispers follow me to this day.”

Din studied her. “You had hoped, by winning it from him, you would reverse your past mistake, and cement your claim in the rightful way of your Mando’ade.” He realised.

Kryze nodded. “And instead, that ge’hutuun outsmarted both of us.” She muttered, then looked up at him with a rather defeated air. “Compared to your triumph today… my tale is laandur. They will never accept me as Mand’alor.”

Din nodded, helmet dipping forward. “I understand.” He said.

It was as the shabuir himself had said – Kryze couldn’t wield the Darksaber unless she won it from him. And even then, her claim was on shaky ground. The Darksaber – with its unwanted responsibility – was his.

Din sighed and clipped the weapon to his belt. He’d think about all the implications later.

Kryze looked down at her helmet again, before meeting his visor with her gaze. “Are you sure you won’t come with us?” she asked. It was a genuine request, devoid of the anger and mockery that previous questions had held.

Din dipped his helmet. “I’m sure.” He said, “Whatever it means to you, I won’t fake interest in something that I don’t – can’t – feel truly about. It wouldn’t be fair, on anyone.”

Kryze nodded, accepting the answer. “Your ijaat serves you well.” She told him.

Din dipped his helmet, acknowledging her comment. “Are we done, here?” he asked, banking back his tiredness.

Kryze nodded. “Elek.” She said, “I… I understand your Way better, now. Your sharing it is appreciated.” Her tone had become formal again, but Din knew it was genuine.

He dipped his helmet at her. “Likewise.” He told her. A thought struck him, and he paused, thinking it through, before adding, “And – it’s Din. Din Djarin.”

Cara had found out in their first altercation with Gideon, months ago; he’d told Boba when he was reeling from Morak. It felt… right, that Kryze should know now.

“Call me the Beroya when talking to the rest of your Mando’ade.” He told her, “But after everything… you have the right.”

Kryze stared at him, shocked, before dipping her head at him with one fist pressed to her heart. “Vor entye.” She murmured. “I will guard your haat gai with honour.”

She hesitated, then asked, “If I may… what will you do, now?”

Beneath his helmet, Din smiled. “Jate nuhoy, before anything else. I’ve been running on empty for too long.” He said. He turned his helmet, looking out at the stars.

A seed of an idea was growing in him. “And after that, well… Perhaps a new hunt will await.” He said, “ _Some_ of the Aliit made it off Nevarro, verocapaani. Maybe now the Imps aren’t at my heels…”

Kryze smiled at him. “Elek.” She said, “Jate’kara on your quest… Din Djarin.”

“And to you on yours, Bo-Katan Kryze.” Din said.

Kryze picked up her helmet, and stepped back from the console. “Ret'urcye mhi.” She said, formally – but with the hint of a smile.

Din dipped his helmet to her, recognising the farewell for what it was. “Ret'urcye mhi.” He returned, then turned and walked out the doors.

He knew this would not be the last time he and Kryze saw each other. Perhaps, next time, she would fight him for the Darksaber, to assuage her own pride and guilt; but until then, he knew what his purpose would be.

**Author's Note:**

> Elek = Yes  
> sha'kaji = as above.  
> Mando’ade = Children of Mandalore; Mando’a way of saying Mandalorians.  
> Kyr’stad = Death Watch (literal translation Death Society). Therefore…  
> Kyr’stad’ade = Children of Death Watch.  
> Nayc = No  
> Ja’hail’ade = Children of the Watch (from ja'hailir = observe/ watch)  
> Aliit = Multiple translations: clan, family, tribe. Used in this fic to refer to the Tribe, Din’s covert.  
> Manda’yaim = Mandalore (literally “soul home”, which I find wonderfully poetic).  
> yaim = home  
> Aliit’ade = Children of the Tribe; i.e. members of the Tribe, Din’s covert.  
> Kih’aliit = immediate Clan (literally small clan); i.e. your immediate family, as distinguished from Aliit, Tribe, the broader community. Din and Grogu would be Kih’aliit Mudhorn. Thank you to Trudemaethien for this idea.  
> Manda = Multiple entwining definitions; 1) the collective/ supreme, overarching, guardian-like soul or heaven; 2) the state of being Mandalorian in mind, body and spirit.  
> ik’aad gehat’ik = Children’s story (literally toddler story, as ik’aad = child under 3).  
> Dha’kad = Darksaber.  
> Mando’kad = Mandalorian sword/ saber  
> ijaat = honour  
> Mand’alor’e = Mandalorian leaders (the ’e makes it plural).  
> ‘kad = saber, sword.  
> dar’manda = one who is no longer Mandalorian  
> demagolka = monster, war criminal, one who commits atrocities.  
> darjetii = Sith (literally, one who isn’t a Jedi, so could be any Fallen Force-user).  
> waa’tayla = valuable, especially for the future (literally wealth-hold, holding onto wealth). Conjugated with the combined help of the Mando’a experts in the New SW Canon Discord, especially Trudemaethien and cyanteeth.  
> maan ba’slana = original leavers (could also be first leavers).  
> aruetiise = outsiders  
> kar’ta = heart  
> shereshoy = Uniquely Mandalorian word; meaning the enjoyment of each day and the determination to seek and grab every possible experience, as well as surviving to see the next day - hanging onto life and relishing it.  
> beroya = hunter  
> kot bal kar’ta = strength and heart  
> Or’averde = companies  
> verde = soldiers  
> Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la = Not gone, merely marching far away. A Mandalorian tribute to the dead.  
> nehaal’nyn = breath-stealing (literally, breathless hit). Again, much love and thanks to the New SW Canon Discord, especially to cyanteeth for word conjugation.  
> ta'raysholan’e = millennia (literally thousands).  
> Mandokarla = having the *right stuff*, showing guts and spirit, the state of being the epitome of Mando virtue.  
> ge’hutuun = criminal one has no respect for; also bandit, villain, or petty thief.  
> laandur = in this context, weak or pathetic (insulting); can also mean delicate or fragile.  
> shabuir = bastard. Dictionary only says, “extreme insult, ‘jerk’ but much stronger”. Given its root word, buir, means parent, I… assumed. ;)  
> Vor entye = thank you (literally, “I accept a debt”); only used when really, genuinely meant.  
> Haat gai = true name  
> Jate ruhoy = good rest/ sleep.  
> verocapaani = hopefully  
> Jate’kara = luck, destiny (literally “good stars”).  
> Ret'urcye mhi = Goodbye (literally, “Maybe we'll meet again”)
> 
> Reviews appreciated; I'm a little nervous about this one.


End file.
